image by buttkus
A Locked Gate Betrayed by Rust
“Dying is a wild night, & a new road,”
--Emily Dickinson.
A locked Gate betrayed by Rust
And an indecisive Padlock--
Will appear to Block my Way
But I can still Walk
Past the Iron Angels--Gargoyles
And concrete Lambs to wander
Midst Stone Tablets bearing carved Names
Whose Spirits have fled Yonder--
Shadowed Now by Celtic & Christian
Crosses--some overgrown with Moss--
Nettles--tiny Wildflowers--thick Thistles
Mantling Dates and diminishing Loss--
Discovering a forgotten Tombstone--
War Fatality hidden in a dark Corner--
Death in 1944 bearing my Name--
So am I Inhabitant or Mourner?
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over on dVerse Poets Pub MTB
Would you like to hear me read this Dickinson-like poem?
17 comments:
It is really fascinating, I think, to walk around in cemeteries and look at the gravestones, figuring out how old people were when they died - seeing if there was any clue as to reason, etc. The old gravestones ARE the most interesting, I think. It really would be eerie to find a gravestone with one's name on it. The stuff of nightmares!
I particularly enjoy looking at the names and see what first names prevailed and imagine where their families were from. I'd find it vey spooky to see my own name on a grave though.
Oh my...what a powerful, though-provoking poem. You really entered the spirit of the prompt, going to that dark death-spot so often frequented by Dickinson. Of course the tombstone caught my attention--I'm one of those people drawn by cemeteries, trying to conjure up stories. And this was the year my father was KIA. I don't always listen to the recordings but I had to hear this one and you read it so impressively. I'm struck by your versitality (sig.), Glenn, working so skillfully in common meter. How do you spell that v-word?
Wonderful close on this, sending the whole thing to another realm really. From a reflective time among the stones to a bit of a ghost story.
It feels like the last two stanzas have slightly longer lines than the first two, but that doesn't detract from the thoughtfulness and melancholy, the beauty of this poem. I know you don't like constraining your poems through form and rhyme much either, so bravo! Captures the spirit of ED very well.
Glenn, hearing your voice on audio just takes my breath-away on how beautiful your voice sounds. You've really touched on the prompt. Thought-imagery, & Thought provoking.
To be idle is a short road to death and to be diligent is a way of life; foolish people are idle, wise people are diligent.
~Buddha
P.S Hope you like my new poem I posted Yesterday, Wednesday. It's sci-fi in its weird world. You will love it hopefully.
This was a very haunting and thought-provoking walk through a cemetery. I've never been a fan of cemeteries, but it can be interesting to read the tombstones. We were in a small one next to an abandoned church in south Maui a few weeks ago and were surprised to find a headstone of someone who had died as recently as 2009. It was quite out of place in that out-of-the-way place off a dirt road. Peace, Linda
That question made me re-read it again ~ Perhaps you have the same name as the gravestone? Or you are the walking dead?
Enjoyed the journey through the forgotten graveyard ~
The closing lines are chilling to the spine!! Brilliant write :D
I cannot adequately convey how gratifying that was to read. Excellent, excellent work, Glenn.
I'm going back for another read now. Phenomenal, exceptional writing.
Your poignant poem picks up ED's recurring mood with skill, though I struggled to find the iambic metre. I prefer your interpretation to the singsong rhythm that permeates the classic common metre.
the close gave me a jolt...eerie...a powerful write :)
I love a twist at the end, and there it was. Nice write.
nice change for you... filled with emotions... loved the description
The meter seems lost, but the rhyme taunts were there.
And the wonderful tour and emotions as always.
Morning of death does never exist..
mourners of death.. life in eyes
of death as life..
therefore
death
does
not
exist..:)
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